Early Spring's Whisper
It’s late March, the world still sleeps,
With snow that blankets, cold and deep.
But in the building, soft and clear,
A gentle chirping I could hear.
No trees outside to greet the sun,
Yet in the air, the promise spun.
The birds inside, so small, so sweet,
Their song a gift in winter’s retreat.
A breath of spring is on the rise,
Through windows closed, beneath gray skies.
The air, so still, but something stirs—
A breeze will come, the frost it blurs.
Soon flowers bloom in soft arrays,
And summer calls with warmer days.
Fiddles dance in meadows wide,
As springtime’s heart beats deep inside.
So even when the snow remains,
I hear the whispers, feel the change.
For in this cold, I hear the sound
Of spring, just waiting to be found
mj2025
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